The Wanderers are forever restless.
In the uncomfortable chair of life, the Wanderer is forever shifting, moving, squirming, in their attempt to find what feels best? For a while perhaps, they can be still, yet after too soon they move to another position, then another and another. Continuously shuffling and fidgeting. It is only when they stand, and leave, that they truly feel comfortable.
A Wanderer can only sit for so long.
The desire for travel captures many, yet engulfs few.
A Wanderer seeks a different kind of thrill to a tourist or traveler. The Wanderer needs – not wants, or even desires – needs, the rush of being somewhere new. The thud of the stamp in their passport and the accompanying path of gold that is thus laid out before them, releases an endorphin like nothing else can. They need the feeling of not knowing where they will sleep, even as the sun is setting and the birds are circling in the sky. They need to get lost in the cities, so they can find exactly what they are looking for. They need to discover what has not yet been written. They need to see, taste and feel what they are warned not to. Most of all they need to leave their chair and walk and walk and walk.
A Wanderer is never satisfied. They can be still, calm and restful, even call somewhere ‘home.’ Yet no amount of water, from the earth or the heavens, can allow their roots to take hold. Rather, they leave their seeds scattered, and feel at home everywhere and nowhere.
Perhaps? Probably? Definitely? The biggest sacrifice a Wanderer makes is love. Lest the travel Gods, a sometimes benevolent force, allows two Wanderers to cross paths, they are destined to wander alone. Even then, their fate may be solitary. A Wanderer will not wait for love and cannot take a non Wanderer with them.
Love will surely present itself in a Wanderers life. They are not immune to life’s greatest gift and destructive force.
A siren call from the roadside sings out to the Wanderer. An undiscovered, promising and alluring path in the Wanderers journey, for even Wanderers are not averse to love. For some time a Wanderer may stray, be still, feel at peace – yet they will always drift back towards their road.
A Wanderer is forever restless.
They wrestle with themselves. All around them others take root. One by one, they marry, parent, earn, share and love. The Wanderer continues traveling. Wandering, setting up, packing up and then… again.
The perennial question for a Wanderer, is where and when to go, next. Next. Next. And then? The Wanderer sleeps with one eye open. To not have a plan, to not have a ‘next,’ to not have another destination makes a Wanderer uncomfortable. Like an addict looking for their next hit, the Wanderer is on edge, itchy, wondering when they can get ‘high’ again. Familiarity is not a need of the Wanderer. The comfort of arriving ‘home,’ wherever home may be at that particular time, will be uneasy if there no plans of when to leave again.
A Wanderer is never through with travel.
They do not make time for travel in their life.
Travel is their life, and their life fits in to their travel.